


over and over again, 'til it's nothing but senseless babble.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [16]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: He was put into a position from which he couldn't escape.





	over and over again, 'til it's nothing but senseless babble.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.

Akira was sick. He was very, very sick.

They'd gone into Sae's Palace without Akechi, since he wasn't answering phone calls or texts. Had been expressly avoiding them, in fact, ever since Akira declared they were a couple in Leblanc. They only had days left to complete their task, and on the day the Thieves went into Sae's Palace without Akechi, Akira pushed forward with single-minded intensity. Battle after battle and status ailment after status ailment left him drained, though, and by the time they left, Akira was pale and shaking.

Akechi didn't know any of this, of course. Only answered his phone because he noticed twenty missed calls from Futaba. There were texts and missed calls from the others, too, but twenty from Futaba seemed serious. She never contacted Akechi directly unless she absolutely had to, and even then, it was usually through Akira.

He called her back more out of curiosity than anything. Curiosity and, if he was being honest, a twinge of concern. Why hadn't Akira been the one to call him, if he was really needed?

It was through Futaba that he learned his concern was not unfounded.

“He's dying,” Futaba proclaimed, over-the-top enough that all Akechi did was smile acquiescence. “He keeps asking for you. Won't accept help from anybody else.”

He didn't want to go, exactly (despite the mild anxiety tightening his chest, but he wouldn't think too hard about that). Still, he packed a bag for a couple of nights and made his way over to Yongen-Jaya, over to Leblanc.

Sojiro was there to greet him when he came in. Gave him a nod of acknowledgment, and pointed his thumb in the direction of the stairs. Akechi bowed slightly before making his way through the cafe, past curious customers (some of which were young girls who clearly recognized him, as they started whispering behind their hands), and up to the attic.

Futaba was there, sitting on a chair by Akira's bedside. As soon as she saw Akechi, she stood up and grabbed him by the arm.

“Finally!” she groaned, casting an exasperated look over her shoulder at the boy on the bed. “He just kept asking for you over and over and over. I was ready to pull all my hair out."

She regarded the bag slung over Akechi's shoulder with a tilt of her head before nodding in understanding.

“Good. Who knows how long he'll take to get better. He really pushed himself, ya know? I think he missed you.”

That wasn't a good reason to go to extremes, Akechi thought, but he kept his opinion to himself.

“You go home and rest,” he said, flashing a warm smile. “I'll look after him.”

Futaba nodded at him, paused a moment, and then threw her arms around him in a surprise hug.

“Take good care of him,” she begged, voice muffled in his chest. “Please.”

And then she rushed away before Akechi could react. He stood in the center of the room a moment, eyes wide. He couldn't put solid thoughts to what he was feeling, couldn't formulate words, but whatever it was, it made him uncomfortable.

He shifted from foot-to-foot awhile before placing his bag down in a corner and approaching Akira on the bed. Sat on the chair and reached for a small towel on the edge of a bowl of water placed on the floor. He rung the towel out over the bowl and dipped it a couple of times, rung it out again, then placed it gingerly on Akira's forehead.

“You're causing a lot of trouble for me, you know,” Akechi whispered, smoothing the hair back from Akira's face. “I really don't know what to do with you.”

It was a little alarming, how pale Akira was. How his breath came out in shallow, wheezing gasps. His skin beneath Akechi's hand, even through his glove, was much too hot.

Akira struggled to swallow. Squirmed beneath his blanket. Akechi murmured softly to him, inane words of comfort, and continued smoothing back his hair. He couldn't help but smile a little when Akira opened his eyes.

“So you return to the world of the living,” Akechi joked. “How do you feel?”

A stupid question, really. It was obvious just by looking at him that Akira felt like living death. Akira didn't answer him, just closed his eyes again and groped blindly around for Akechi's hand. Akechi gave it to him and squeezed tight.

“Don't go,” Akira choked out, clutching Akechi's hand for dear life.

Akechi started. What did he mean, don't go?

“I won't,” he said, a question in his voice. “I'm right here.”

Akira shook his head weakly. Opened his eyes just the slightest bit. They were watery, unfocused, half-alive. Akechi's throat tightened.

“Don't go,” Akira said again, pleaded, really, and the floor fell out from under Akechi's feet. “Stay with me. Please.”

It was the fever talking, naturally. It couldn't be anything else. Akechi couldn't bear the thought of Akira knowing everything, everything, and yet still clinging to him like this. The implications of that would be too humiliating, too painful to live with.

Not knowing what else to do, Akechi leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Akira's temple. Akira wrapped arms around him and pulled Akechi down on top of him.

“Kurusu, what—"

“I love you,” Akira murmured against Akechi's neck. “I love you. I love you. I need you.”

Over and over, over and over, Akira declared his love until Akechi couldn't make out individual words anymore. His head swam. His heart hammered in his chest. Something not quite rage and not quite fear threatened to rip him apart from the inside out. For once, his rage was not directed at Akira at all. Akechi grit his teeth. Slipped his arms around Akira and held him tightly, tightly, as tightly as he could until Akira whimpered.

“You,” Akechi hissed, “are ruining my life.”

There was no chance Akira would remember those words, not addled with fever as he was, so Akechi had no fear in saying them. Why, then, didn't he move away? Why, then, did he not let go?

He stayed with Akira, lying beside him on the bed, tending to him, kissing him and holding him, for three days. On the third day Akira's fever broke, and for the first time since Akechi arrived, Akira looked at him with mild recognition.

“Goro...?”

“I'm here, you needy delinquent.”

Akira chuckled at that. Nuzzled into Akechi's chest and fell into a deep, easy sleep.

Time was running out. In just a little under a week, the deadline to steal Sae Niijima's heart would be upon them. Akechi had a decision to make, despite thinking long ago that he'd already made it. Lying here with Akira like this, though, confused him. Made him uncertain in a way he hadn't been uncertain since the day his mother died. He detested that uncertainty. His whole life had been so calculated, so pristine in its passage, and this, whatever it was, was an anomaly he couldn't stand to face head-on.

So he didn't face it. He set it aside and refused to look at it further; at least, not on the surface. He told himself, again and again, that his mind was made up. That Akira Kurusu had to die.

Deep inside, however, so deep it became an inextricable part of him, he already knew what he would do. And he would do it, without fail, no matter what.

 


End file.
